


The Virgin

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abusive Relationship, BSDM, Dom/sub, Hurt/Eventual Comfort, M/M, Rape, Slut Shaming, Victim Blaming, Virgin Shaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 04:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3714640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a new officer working for Scotland Yard. No isn't an option. </p><p>This is not a happy fic, please heed the warnings and tags. <br/>It will include: <br/>BSDM<br/>Non-con<br/>Victim Blaming<br/>Dirty Talking/profanity</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unusual Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this will be a longer fic, I make no promises for how long it will take to update. 
> 
> Please heed the warnings!! This is all non-consensual. 
> 
> This is the product of my fucked-up mind.Enjoy!

 

Sherlock leaned over the microscope, focusing on the collection of bacteria beneath the lens. Some vague time ago the last few lab attendants had left, and Molly had mumbled a forlorn goodbye, but he hadn’t been paying much attention. Not with entire case resting on this little group of microorganisms. Not when his mind was racing a hundred miles an hour. Either way, the lab was now silent, which was good. Sherlock worked better in silence, even though he was an expert at ignoring people not having them there in the first place made them even easier to ignore. He turned away from the slide, scribbling a few notes on a scrap of paper. Sherlock was pretty well used to being alone, John had been a married man for months now, and the flat was usually quiet, just like the room was now. It was better not to dwell on John’s absence, to focus on the cases, completely. Now he just needed to run the test, and then he would know and he would have solved another case, the third one this week. It wasn’t that London’s crime rates had spiked, simply that Sherlock had been offering his assistance on more and more cases. It helped to fill the time. This case, at least, was an interesting one, probably a seven. He was so intent on his work that he didn’t notice the door to the lab open with a click. Sherlock didn’t bother to look up from the microscope at the footsteps that were approaching. By the stride they male, but he really didn’t care what lab attendant had forgotten their keys and come back to fetch them. Unless it was John, which by the footfalls, it certainly wasn’t. The Work was more important. A man cleared his throat, finally managing to get Sherlock to straighten in annoyance. It was a man that Sherlock had seen several times earlier in the week, milling around crime scenes, Lestrade had christened him the new officer. He was inconsequential.

 

“You’re here late.” The officer said casually, standing beside him with his hands buried in his pockets.

 

“I’m working.” And this man was interrupting him. He ignored him, turning back to his work.

 

“Well,” the officer started,”I just wanted to see the renowned detective in action, and introduce myself of course.”

 

“There’s no need,” Sherlock drawled, setting a glass slide down with a clink.

 

The man’s brow furrowed,“What?”

 

He sighed, “There’s no need to introduce yourself, you are the new detective who started this week, taking Donovan’s place because she was promoted.”

 

“Aren’t you going to deduce me?” It almost seemed like a challenge, and it was said oddly, like being examined by Sherlock would be a treat.

 

“Should I bother?”

 

The man thrust out his hand, which Sherlock ignored he would have to take off his gloves shake it, which meant having to fetch a new pair of latex ones before he could return to his work, which meant more time wasted when he needed these results.

 

”I’m Jonathan by the way, Jonathan Davis.”

 

“I think repeating my name would be unnecessary.” The man slid closer, leaning against the counter, and effectively crowding Sherlock’s work space…that he had not been expecting, and Sherlock wasn’t sure how to respond. So he pretended that Jonathan wasn’t there, an elementary tactic, but very effective with Molly.

 

“Wow,” Jonathan mused.

 

“What is it you find so baffling?”

 

“You.” Sherlock smiled.

 

“That is the normal response. Don’t worry.”

 

The man laughed softly. Sherlock didn’t understand the joke, so he tilted his head in confusion.

 

”I meant you really are as big of a prick as they say you are.” His nostrils flared, it appeared Jonathan was indeed, only average. But he seemed to be expecting a response so Sherlock hummed noncommittally.

 

“You really are a rude bastard, you could have at least said hello. You act like…oh that’s it.” That caught his attention, it seemed like Davis now knew something that he didn’t.

 

“What is it?” Jonathan’s brown eyes glared into Sherlock’s and he took him in for the first time. Officer Davies wasn’t exactly unattractive, he was taller than Sherlock by a few inches, and definitely broader

 

“How many times have you been fucked?”

 

Sherlock blinked, unsure of the expression that was settling on his face,”….what?” The question had barely registered, Jonathan’s tone had remained completely even, it was almost like Sherlock could’ve imagined it.

 

“It would explain so much,” Jonathan shrugged,”Why you are a complete and utter arse for one thing. If you’d never been, you know, taken down a notch. I’ll bet you’re a whore for it though, you seem like you would be.”

 

“This is completely inappropriate,” Sherlock had long forgotten his experiments, his face filling with heat as he took a step away from the still completely relaxed officer,”If this is some joke that Anderson put you up to it needs to stop. Now. Or-“

 

Jonathan smiled,”Or what? What exactly will you do Sherlock? Tell Lestrade that I was rude to you? Do you think he’ll care, he’d probably thank me. You don’t get much appreciation around here, not from them at least.” Davis made a show of running his eyes over Sherlock’s body,”But you really should, be appreciated, I mean.”

 

He felt a chill run through him. “You need to leave,” he said as menacingly as he would manage,”Now. Officer Davis.”

 

“Officer Davis?,” Jonathan repeated mockingly,”Why so formal? A moment ago you couldn’t be bothered to shake my hand, now you can remember my title, and use it. Are you trying to show your authority? Or are you just afraid and trying to get me to leave.” Jonathan leaned forward to hiss hot breath into Sherlock’s ear. “Either way, its not working.”

 

Sherlock had had enough, he turned away, ready to grab his coat and head for the door, when out of nowhere two large hands clamped onto the counter behind him, trapping him against the lab table. He became well aware of the pounding in his chest. Jonathan was well-muscled and had the advantage, he couldn’t get away.

 

“I just want to know if you’ve ever been fucked.” Jonathan said this casually, completely ignoring the absurdity of the question and the fact that he was forcing Sherlock’s hip bones to dig into the wood in a painful manner. “It’s a simple question, Sherlock? I’d think with your massive intellect you’d be able to understand it. Has anyone popped that sweet arse cherry? Are?” Jonathan pushed farther, causing Sherlock’s hands he had braced against the table to slip and shove whatever scientific equipment was sitting there back.

 

“You?” Glass tinkled as it hit the floor, and something metal landed with a clank. He considered scolding Jonathan for ruining expensive equipment and possibly destroying the evidence from the case he was working, but the words seemed to stick in the lump in his throat.

 

“A?” The pressure was to much, Sherlock slipped falling backwards onto the counter, his knees and calves still being dug into the wood by Davis’s waist.

 

“Virgin?”Sherlock’s eyes flicked to the door, searching through the glass pane, desperate for any help. His gaze didn’t go unnoticed. “I wouldn’t worry about anyone interrupting us, I know how you hate to be bothered. But no one’s going to hear or see anything, because there’s no here. We are all alone, that Hooper girl left hours ago, the lab’s all but empty. It’s just you and me.” The implications of that made bile rise in the back of his throat. He thought about shouting for help anyways.

 

“Assaulting me,” he said quietly, struggling to keep his tone calm,”would be a very serious mistake. I have friends in higher places than you can imagine. You will pay dearly for anything you do.”

 

“Who’s assaulting anyone? I was just asking a question. A very simple question that you seem incapable of answering.” Davis leaned over him, close enough that Sherlock could smell his colon, and it overpowered his nostrils, he stared at Jonathan, wide-eyed in fear,”Besides,” Jonathan hissed,”If we were to be interrupted, by say that lovely smitten with you Molly, mmm..she’s a sweet one,”he smacked his lips suggestively,”What would she see? Hmm? A gay man getting off with the new officer. And enjoying it.”

 

Something ran through Sherlock like a jolt, he didn’t advertise his sexuality, and he certainly kept it guarded from the Force, even John didn’t know he was…how did Jonathan know?

“I’m not enjoying anything,”he snapped defensively.

 

“Oh,” Jonathan raised an eyebrow,”Than how do you explain your raging hard on?”

 

“What?”Sherlock gasped, staring down at the tent in his trousers where his body was betraying him. He wasn’t enjoying it, at all. Jonathan placed a hand on Sherlock’s chest, which he tried to push away, but Davis just managed to snag both of his wrists in one meaty hand and hold them above his head. The other hand was running over the purple silk fabric of Sherlock’s shirt. Slowly unfastening the buttons and then sliding on his skin. It felt wrong, undeniably wrong. He squirmed as Jonathan rubbed his abdomen in undulating circles, before working up to his chest. Sherlock yelped as Jonathan twisted his nipples. It hurt, but also sent a shiver down his spine that made Davis smirk. He felt himself start to swell.

 

“See?,” Jonathan gripped his curls, yanking on the roots with painful force,”I knew you were a raging faggot from the instant I laid eyes on you. I bet this is what you always wanted, someone to fuck you until you bled, someone to shove you to your knees. This is what you like, isn’t it?” He tried to shake his head but the grip on his hair was too tight. “You wear these tight shirts to get attention, and those trousers to show off your arse, but they apparently don’t make up for the personality. Its hard to compensate, when you really are that such an arsehole. Don’t worry though, I see you as a challenge. Something to train, something to break and reshape into my own. And I see you for what you really are. Desperate.” Jonathan punctuated this word by twisting Sherlock’s nipples. He tried to stay something, but it wouldn’t come out, instead he licked his dry lips. This counldn’t be happening…this couldn’t, what was happening? He didn’t want this, that was the only thing Sherlock was certain of, he didn’t want this. But his body said otherwise, he was really hard right now. And he’d barely been touched, but his body seemed to be craving this, it’d been so long since anyone had touched Sherlock, at all. He clamped his jaw trying to breathe evenly as Jonathan’s hand rubbed lower. Sherlock whimpered as his trousers were unzipped and pulled to his knees, leaving his erection covered only by his thin cotton briefs.

 

“Now,” Jonathan coaxed, barely running his hand over Sherlock’s crotch,”Tell me. Are you a virgin?” His face turned redder as Jonathan groped him, his nails biting. Sherlock whined, unable to comprehend the flood of sensations that was running through him, his body begging for more, for a release he’d never had, while his mind screamed. “Tell me.” Davis growled, squeezing him. And then Sherlock couldn’t take it anymore, he broke.

 

“Yes,” he choked, in a barely mortified whisper,”I’m a—a virgin. “

 

Jonathan chuckled, still unrelenting in his groping,”See, that wasn’t so hard. Next time save yourself the trouble and just tell me. So what’s the most you’ve ever done then? Have you ever even been kissed?” Sherlock’s head was pounding, he felt completely numb except for the massaging of Jonathan’s hand. It was so wrong…but so…good. He wanted to scream in frustration.

 

“I’ve—I’ve given oral sex,” he panted.

 

“And who was that with, who was the first to fuck your mouth?”

 

“It,” his voice seemed far away and very small,”was payment. For when I had a drug habit.” He bit his lip as shame unfurled in his stomach. That had been so long ago, and it was blurry, he’s been high at the time, but he’d needed it. 

 

“Tsk, tsk,”Jonathan clicked his tongue,”What a naughty, naughty boy you are Sherlock. Not just a fag, but a whore too. Selling yourself like a piece of meat, just a hole to be used. Look how desperate you are too,” Jonathan picked up the pace of his friction, and Sherlock felt himself go hot, whether from pleasure or humiliation he wasn’t sure,”You are such a slut for it. Was that the only time?”

 

“No,” his throat felt tight.

 

“And what was that time?”

 

Sherlock’s lips trembled,”For a case.”

 

“Mmm,” Jonathan sounded disappointed,”Did he fuck your mouth hard?”

 

Sherlock stared up, letting the white fluorescent lights burn his eyes,”Yes.”

 

The hand tightened around him,”Did it hurt?”

 

“Yes.” Sherlock was fighting back tears, they boiled dangerously behind his eyelids, but he refused to let them fall, he wouldn’t give Jonathan the satisfaction.

 

Fingers fondled his scrotum, scrunching the cotton fabric of his briefs,”Did you like it?”

 

“No,” he whispered, voice tight.

 

“That’s a shame.”

 

Sherlock whined. “Please, please stop, just let me-.”

 

Jonathan cut in,”Come?”

 

He gasped struggling at that one word,”Go. Just please let me go.”

 

“Oh, you don’t want that.” The fabric between him and Jonathan’s hand seemed to be increasingly to thin,”We’re having so much fun. Go on, talk to me.”

 

“I-I,” his teeth clacked,”I answered your question.”

 

“Poor Sherlock, no one has ever wanted you. Ever loved you, ever even touched you. Look at this." Jonathan pinched his length and Sherlock gasped his hips rising to meet Davis's hand out of their own accord.

 

"You so responsive, you are loving this. Such a slut, I've seen a lot of whore's in my time, but none of them were as hungry as you. I could fuck you dry and you'd beg for more. You just wanted someone to make you scream, don't you? You live to be humiliated, to be used like the arsehole that you are."

 

His chest shook, fighting sobs. Sherlock didn’t want it to feel good, he should have been able to control it, but it did…he in some animal way enjoyed this. He was supposed to be better than that.

 

“So tell me? Have you ever loved anyone? Or are you incapable of that.”

 

He took a breath trying to regain his panicking over-stimulated mind,”No.”

 

“No what?” His eyes were prickling barely keeping the tears at bay.

 

“No, I have never been in love.” He was trembling, unable to stop shaking as his throat constricted and his tears threatening to leak. He was pitiful, and he knew it.

 

“I don’t believe you.” The hand between his legs was tormenting him, he wanted more, he wanted it to stop, but either way he felt miserable.

 

“I was--,” his voice cracked the tears finally spilling down his cheeks,”Once.”

 

Jonathan was laughing, at him, as he sobbed dryly ,aware that he could do nothing to wipe the wetness off of his face. Davis leaned forward pressing his lips against Sherlock’s. He tried to recoil away but the hand on his wrists gripped tighter painfully grinding his bones together. As Jonathan’s mouth assaulted his, Davis had picked up the pace with his hand, Sherlock sobbed harder as heat built up inside of him. He was going to come, and his sobs were either from pain or relief, he wasn’t sure.

 

“Come for, Sherlock. Come like the slut that you are,” Jonathan whispered wetly. Sherlock arched, gasping as wetness coated the front of his briefs. He collapsed, panting and spent, but anxiety still fluttering in his chest, his cheeks stained with dried tears. Jonathan wiped his wet hand on the inside of Sherlock’s thigh.

 

“That,” Jonathan grinned hungrily,”was beautiful. I have so much to look forward too.” Sherlock felt like he was floating, all tingly and numb and starkly aware of just how hot his face was. 

 

“What…what is there to look forward to?”

 

Davis grinned, displaying a row of white teeth. But the question went unanswered, he was yanked to his feet by his wrists, Sherlock’s knees caved, and he fell against Jonathan’s chest. Weak and completely reliant. Jonathan released his wrists, wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s waist instead and then kissing him, wetly. Shoving his tongue into though Sherlock’s teeth, using his unresponsive mouth. Davis’s hands dropped away, and he groveled for the edge of the counter for support. A second later Davis was gone.

 

Footsteps, a creaking door.

 

“See you tomorrow, Sherlock.”

 

The door slammed closed.

 

Sherlock didn’t move, he leaned against the wood, feeling sticky and wet and dirty. Everywhere.

 

He closed his eyes, chest heaving, and begged his mind to delete it all.

 

 

 

 


	2. Doorknockers Are Extremely Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka Sherlock loses his virginity.   
> And cries again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has Rape with a capital R. I need to point out that even though Sherlock is confused by his body's reactions and wonders if 'his body truly wants it' (which is total bullshit btw) this is still completely non-consensual. 
> 
> Jonathan is a psychopath.   
> Sherlock is a victim.

 

What was the most disturbing thing was how normal Jonathan acted the next day. Sherlock had barely convinced himself to come, but he had to solve the case, and what would he have told Lestrade as an excuse for not showing up? He kept waiting for something to happen, or at least a reminder that something had happened. Davis went about his work in the background, hardly even looking at Sherlock. By mid-afternoon he was almost convinced that the entire thing had been a dream, a frightening hallucination. Maybe that was why he couldn’t wipe it from his mind, it was his mind’s own creation. If it weren’t for the stained briefs he knew were lying in his hamper at home, he could have completely believed it.

Then Sherlock realized that it was a tactic, the Jonathan was going to let him think he was safe and then attack the moment he let his guard down.

That’s why the instant he had given Lestrade the solution to the latest case, he walked out the doors of Scotland Yard, glancing behind himself nervously the entire way. But there was no one following him, not that he could see. Maybe Sherlock had been wrong, maybe this was a one-time prank, or maybe Jonathan had decided he wasn’t worth it and given up on him. By the time he got out of his cab, and had reached Baker Street Sherlock had fully convinced himself, and that’s why he thought nothing of the odd placement of the doorknocker. He sighed.

His brother, of course, the last thing Sherlock wanted to do was deal with Mycroft and his puffed up personality. He noted that Mrs. Hudson was out, probably at Mrs. Turners, it was Friday night.

The key clicked in the lock as he let himself into the flat. He considered making tea but decided against it, the sink was filling up with dishes, he would have to get Mrs. Hudson to do them. He walked down the hall and to his bedroom. He just wanted to make sure, that it’d actually happened, that the proof was still there, he prayed that it wasn’t.

He walked into his bedroom, closing the door behind him, so he wouldn't be disturbed on the off-chance that Mrs. Hudson got home early, and clicked on the light.

“Good evening, Sherlock,” Jonathan was sitting on Sherlock’s bed watching him, his legs sprawled out lazily.

Sherlocks’s heart pounded in his chest, pumping adrenaline through his veins, his mind screamed at him, _fight or flight ,fight or flight._

Sherlock bolted, scrambling for the door behind him. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Jonathan was in front of him, blocking the doorway with his frame. Sherlock could hear himself breathing, Jonathan reached turned and flipped the lock on the door with a click.  The air went out of Sherlock’s lungs.

“You—you can’t be here. Someone could…” he trailed off at the cruel smile on Jonathan’s lips.

“I can’t be here?,” he challenged, stepping a little closer to Sherlock, just enough in his personal space that he couldn’t feel any safe distance.

“Mrs. Hudson, she’ll hear, if she comes back and John could--.” He cut off scolding himself for even bringing up John, of course he didn’t have to worry about that, John wouldn’t be coming over for tea or anything silly like that. Sherlock had hardly seen him since the wedding.

“You have to go,” he finished lamely.

Jonathan clicked his tongue,”What a naughty, naughty boy you are. What am I going to do with you?”

“Please,” he raised a hand trying to gain the illusion of space between him and Jonathan,”Please just-.”

“Quiet,”Jonathan snapped. “And if you don’t want the neighbors to hear, you better stay that way.” Sherlock heard only roaring in his ears. Jonathan approached him and he backed away until his knees hit the side of the bed. Jonathan grabbed his chin, tilting his head so Sherlock had to stare into his attacker’s green eyes. He squeezed harder, and Sherlock felt the bones in his jaw grind, he cried out.

“I think that you need to be taught a lesson.” An instant later, he pushed Sherlock away. Sherlock only had a moment to unclench his jaw before he realized he’d fallen back on the bed. He scrambled, panicking to try to get back up.

Jonathan gave him a commanding look,”Stay.” Sherlock whimpered, suddenly frozen, his hand’s digging into the comforter as he tried to ground himself. Yet, at the same time unable to move, too afraid to. Every muscle in his body was aching towards the door, but he knew he wouldn’t make it, and the consequences of making Jonathan mad...he gulped nervously.

On the other side of the bed, Jonathan was digging through plastic sacs, the bags crinkling has he pulled out items and placed them on the bedside table. Sherlock refused to look at what Jonathan had brought, but he had a good idea of what it was.

“Take off your clothes,” Jonathan said calmly, as if he was asking Sherlock to pass him the salt shaker. He didn’t move, staying completely still, wishing he could dissolve through the bed, through the floor and disappear. Suddenly, Jonathan was leaning over him,”Take off your clothes, or I will rip them off myself.”

His fingers shook as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, taking way to long to slide it off. The maroon silk fell to the floor in a heap. Jonathan growled impatiently as he tried to unclasp his trousers, Sherlock’s fingers seemed thick and his hands clumsy. Davis wasn’t waiting, he yanked them down and off Sherlock’s ankles himself.

Sherlock shivered as the air hit his exposed skin, he fought the urge to curl up and cover himself. His face turned hot as Jonathan’s eyes roved his skin approvingly, eyeing him like an object to be purchased. 

“Please,” he whispered, unsure exactly what he was pleading for. It went entirely ignored.

“Roll onto your stomach.”

 He obeyed, shaking as he buried his face in the quilt. A strong hand gripped his wrist, encircling it in metal with a ratchetting click, and then closing the other side around a bed post. The handcuffs weren’t the fluffy pink ones that Sherlock had seen in sex shops, they were Davis’s police issued ones. They were on tighter than they should have been and the metal already cut into his skin. Jonathan repeated the process with his other wrist, clamping the handcuff savagely tight. He whimpered as Jonathan grabbed his legs yanking down till his arms were pulled taunt by his wrists and then securing his ankles with lengths of rope to the lower bed posts.

Sherlock was exposed and vulnerable, he felt like an insect pinned to cardboard, Jonathan could do anything he wanted and Sherlock was completely helpless, he bit his lower lip so he wouldn’t scream.

“Damn,”Jonathan whistled lowly, circling the bed and admiring his work,”The real crime is keeping those trousers on, they don’t do that ass justice.”

Davis crawled onto the bed, the dips in the mattress putting even more pressure on Sherlock’s wrists. Knees were on either side of his hips, a hand cupped his arse, trailing lightly up his spine. Sherlock bit back a moan. If he weren't terrified of what was about to be done to him, he may have appreciated the touch. 

“Look at you,”Jonathan hummed appreciatively,”You’re so ready for me. Notice how you’re laying Sherlock. I’m going to take you from behind. I’m going to ride you like the slut that you are.”

Sherlock sobbed dryly, nearly suffocating as he tried to gasp through the cloth. But turning his head to the side would mean having to see, his eyes were already clamped shut.

“No,” he panted,”I don’t want this, no. Please don’t.” He cried out as a finger jammed inside of him.

“I was going to make your first time sweet,” Jonathan growled,”I was going to play nice. But you need to learn, no isn’t an option. You don’t get to say no.” The finger twisted in side of him. It felt wrong, and it hurt.

“No, I think I’ll fuck you dry. I want you to feel me for weeks, to know that I was the first one to stake claim to you. To know that I own you.”

Sherlock panicked, he may have been a virgin, but he knew the damage that could be caused by not having proper lubrication. Images of the torn bodies of rape/homicides that Sherlock had seen flooded his mind. His breath hitched. 

“Please, no, I’ll be good. Just not dry. I’ve—I’ve never done this before, you’ll--.”

“I’ll tear you to pieces,”Jonathan finished. A second finger stabbed in side of him, Sherlock’s muscles clenched hard. Pain burned hot inside of him, it was too much. Davis didn’t seem to care that he was going too fast, he pumped his fingers rhythmically in and out of Sherlock. They plunged deep, through the pain something surged through him. Making his cock throb against the sheets, a humiliating noise escaped his lips.

“I knew you were a whore for it,”Jonathan mocked, hitting that spot again to produce a noise from Sherlock that further proved his point,”Aren’t you? Aren’t you a slut, look at how you want this, look at how your body craves it? Say it.”

“No,” he shook his head, ignoring the hot tears that were staining the sheets,”I don’t want this, I don’t know why I…”

“Because you do,”Davis’s voice was surprisingly soft,”You do want this. You’re a whore, you’re my whore. Once you admit that, it’ll be so much easier.”

He shook his head, trying to wiggle away from Jonathan’s probing fingers, but only managing to strain his wrists.

“No,”he whined. Jonathan added a third finger, stretch Sherlock even wider as he struggled not to scream. No one could hear, no one could know that he was…

That he was... a victim or a whore? Sherlock didn't know, and he didn't want to be either. 

The fingers that were digging inside of him pulled out roughly, he almost sighed in relief. Pain was shooting down his arms and legs from tightening his muscles in such a stretched out position. Maybe it was over, Sherlock begged for it to all be over, sobbing silently into his pillow, making a damp circle.

Somewhere behind him Jonathan unzipped his trousers.

“No!,” he nearly screamed, trying to get away and not caring about the skin he was mutilating on his wrists. Something that was definitely not a finger pressed against Sherlock’s entrance. Then he realized he hadn’t heard any plastic crinkling. There was nothing between him and Jonathan’s cock.

“You--,” he struggled to maintain control of his voice,”You have to at least use a c-condom. Please. Its not safe too…”

“You’re in no position to be asking for favors,” Jonathan reminded him gruffly,”If you hadn’t put up such a fuss maybe I would have been more lenient, but it’s too late for that now.”

“I won’t make a—a fuss, just—,” he screamed as Jonathan shoved inside of him. Sherlock had never been more in pain, it felt like he was being split in two. Davis laughed and shifted his weight, gaining balance before burying himself entirely inside of Sherlock. He screamed again, not caring who heard. Jonathan’s balls were pressed against his arse, hot liquid was dripping down the inside of his thighs. It was his blood, and it was probably staining the quilt, but at least it would provide some lubrication.

“Fuck, Sherlock. You’re so fucking tight!” Jonathan pulled halfway out and then thrust in again, starting a rhythm. He whimpered and sobbed with every movement.

“Do you feel that? Do you feel me inside of you? I’m making you mine. My whore, my slut.” He sobbed harder. Jonathan changed the angle, pulling Sherlock’s hips up off the bed. The pounding hit something inside of him and a moan came from deep in his throat, from some dark place inside Sherlock. A place he hadn’t known existed. Jonathan’s cock rubbed his prostate again and this time he felt the pleasure jolt through him, he quivered beneath Davis.

“There you are. There’s my cock-sucking, whore. There’s my faggot slut, begging me to fuck him until he begs for mercy.” Jonathan punctuated each sentence with thrusts that made Sherlock moan and shiver, obscene noices crawling out of his mouth. His face was hot with humiliation. This couldn’t be happening, he couldn’t actually be enjoying this.

“You want more, don’t you?” Davis was going achingly slow, sliding in and out so that Sherlock could feel everything millimeter of the length inside of him.

“Do you want me to show you what pleasure feels like? Do you want me to make you scream my name, make you come so hard that you see stars? Do you want me to fuck you so hard and so fast that you can’t sit for the next week?” Jonathan’s fingers were digging into Sherlock’s hips, he could already feel the bruises forming as the grip tightened. He ignored the shame filling his stomach as Jonathan’s agonizing pace kept him alternating from yells of pain to gasps of pleasure.

“What do you want, Sherlock, tell me?" He was silent, unable to anything but make animal noises as he was carelessly used.

"Fuck, you’re tight, you fit me like a glove. So, tight and yet you’re taking all of me so well. You were made to be fucked. A worthless faggot hole, only good for fucking. Do you want me to use you, use you like the slut that you are?”

Sherlock was hard, he knew he was, and he was shivering with pleasure and pain that was coursing through him. He wanted it to stop, he wanted it all to be over. But the desire, the need to orgasm was over-whelming. He was sick, his mind was sick. Maybe Sherlock was a slut, maybe he was all the things Jonathan said, because he was being hurt and humiliated and enjoying it. He was a whore. He deserved it. He deserved everything he got. Even though the tears wouldn’t come, he still wept dryly into the pillow, wishing he really could suffocate.

“Y-yes.”

That was all Jonathan needed to end any reservations, he tripled his pace. Pounding into Sherlock so violently that he screamed until his throat was hoarse. Pain made a dull roar in Sherlock’s ears.

“What are you?”

“A-a slut.”

“A fucking cum-slut,” Jonathan corrected,”Who’s cum-slut are you?”

“Y-yours,” he moaned, then Sherlock came. The friction inside of him exploding, he saw white as he convulsed with the aftershocks of his orgasm, filling the bed beneath him with his seed. Then Sherlock collapsed, his body spent and sore. Jonathan thrusted several more times before he shouted, reaching a hand into Sherlock’s hair, and yanking as he came.  Hot sticky liquid filled his insides,Sherlock recoiled at the sensation.

Jonathan pulled out of him unceremoniously. And roughly enough to make him whimper.

He lay panting and numb with pain, as Jonathan stood off the bed and shuffled around the room. Pulling on his trousers, and collecting the items he had brought. Sherlock kept his face buried, he couldn’t bear to look anyone in the eye. Not with the guilt that was pouring through him, heavier than the ache that was laying over every inch of his body, more agonizing than the throbbing from his arse.

The lock to his bedroom door unclicked. Panic twisted in his gut, what if Jonathan just left him here, and someone found him? What would they say? A savage voice in Sherlock’s head told him that they’d see him as the slut he really was. He probably deserved to be left there. 

“Wait,” his voice sounded tight and forced,”Please, untie me. I…”

“I don’t know, it would be a good lesson for you. To have to lay in your own mess, helpless until I came back. I could wait hours, or days.” Jonathan seemed to find that thought amusing, enjoyment leaking into his tone.

“No, please don’t do that…I’ll---I’ll be good,” Sherlock didn’t care how pathetic he sounded, he was desperate,”Just please, don’t leave me like this.”

Jonthan gave an exaggerated sigh, but to Sherlock’s relief walked back over by the bed and starting undoing the knots around his ankles. The handcuffs were removed with a click. Sherlock almost sighed with relief as the pressure was taken off the broken skin.

“Thank you,”he wept,”Th-thank you.”

“I’ll see you soon,”Jonathan reminded. The bedroom door clicked shut behind him.

Sherlock curled his bruised body into a ball, not caring that he was covered in filth, he would clean up the mess later. Right now, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t move. Everything hurt. Sherlock made himself as small he could and let the tears well in his eyes once again. 

 


End file.
